Full Contact (12 page)

“I don’t understand.”

He steps closer, easing my legs apart and my skirt rides up, almost indecently, baring my secret for him alone.

“Neither do I,” he says. “I never lose control. Never come on that strong unless I know it’s something that gets you off. But when I told you to do something, you did it. No games. No pretense. It was like you wanted to do it. And it turned you on. Sent me over the edge and I went too far.”

His words do strange fluttery things to my stomach. But he must be wrong. Sure I was turned on, but it was because of him and not because he bossed me around. The guys I’ve been dating would never dream of telling me what to do in bed. I don’t allow myself to be that vulnerable. No one tells me what to do. No one sees beneath the surface.

“Look at me.”

My head jerks up at his sharp tone and his eyes smolder as he cups my jaw. “There it is. That’s why I can’t stay away.”

“I’m sorry about last night.” I trace along his corded forearm, his hair soft beneath my fingers. “It wasn’t you. It’s me. And for me…it was—”

“Too much,” he interjects softly. “Like breaking a butterfly’s wing.”

“I didn’t break. I just”—a smile teases the corner of my mouth—“flew away.” I lean into the warmth of his palm and he strokes down my hair.

“Come back to me, butterfly.” He loops his arm around me and kisses me. Soft and warm, his tongue slides between my lips to caress the inside of my mouth. My lower body turns liquid and I am grateful for the seat.

Ray pulls away and trails his fingers up my inner thigh. “So fucking sexy in this skirt. Those shoes. Man sees someone else touching his woman when she’s dressed so fine and it’s hard to stay in control.”

Blood rushes through my ears, drowning out the faint warning in the back of my mind that I am not someone capable of the trust needed to sustain any but the most fleeting of relationships. This is supposed to be light. Fun. The fulfillment of a fantasy. Nothing more.

Giving in to the rush of desire, I glide my tongue over the seam of his lips. He tastes fresh and minty, and a little of me. Our kiss is sweet and gentle. A touching of tongues. A murmur of lips. I close my eyes and drown in the softness of his smile.

“Hell.”

My eyes snap open at Tag’s irritated bark. Moments later he appears in front of me, his face a remarkable shade of purple, muscles quivering like he wants to punch someone. Likely Ray, who has already turned around, angling his body to form a shield between me and Tag.

“Get your hands off my fucking sister.”

Ray doesn’t move. “Nothin’ to do with you, Fuzz. Back off.”

“Tag, please.” I glance around the yard and catch sight of Jess pushing her way through the crowd toward us. Fight groupies can always sense a fight.

“He’s not safe.” Tag’s voice rises and a few people look over from the fight. “Not good for you. Why the fuck won’t you listen?”

“I want to be here. With him.” I look up at Ray, his jaw taut, and then over at Tag. “And it’s not like you don’t know him, Tag. He’s your teammate.”

“Thought you’d learned your lesson that just because I’m on a team with someone doesn’t mean you can trust them.” The bitterness in his voice slices through my heart, but his words make me gasp. Tag has never once been anything but sensitive about what happened to me. He’s never used it against me in any way. The fact that he would do so now, and in public, takes my breath away. My mouth opens and closes, but in my shock I have nothing to say.

Lucky for me, Jess does.

“Tag O’Donnell.” She shoves him in the chest, pushing him off balance. “I cannot believe you just said that. What the hell is wrong with you? What were you thinking? How could you bring that up?” She looks over at me and the sympathy and concern on her face tip me from barely in control to undone. Emotion wells up in my throat, and I push Ray away and slide off the wall.

“It’s okay.” My voice wavers. “I’m good. It’s fine.”

But it’s not fine. I can’t breathe. Can’t talk. Can’t think. Just have to get out of here.

Brushing past Ray, I walk into the house. Behind me, I can hear Jess shriek. “Look what you did to her. What kind of brother are you? She’s the strongest person I know. She worked so hard to get over it, and now you take it and use it against her?”

Her shoes tap on the stone tiles, and then clatter across the linoleum floor, the sound slowing only when she spots me in the kitchen.

“You didn’t have to do that.” Curiously numb, I lean against the counter, my arms wrapped around my body. “I’m fine, really. I was just shocked he would bring it up, so I overreacted.”

“Like fuck I didn’t.” Jess glares at the door to the backyard. “Someone needed to give him a shake. Something is wrong with him. He’s never been so callous and insensitive. If I’d seen that side of him before, I don’t know if I would have stuck it out so long.” She shudders and then tilts her head and looks at me, her voice softening. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

“Yeah.” I fill a glass with water and take a sip. “I thought it was all gone, locked away with my paintings, but ever since I met Ray, it keeps spilling out. How can I have a normal relationship if I can’t keep the past in the past?”

Jess wraps her arms around me and gives me a hug. “Maybe hiding it away wasn’t the best thing to do.”

Footsteps thud across the floor. I look up just as Ray walks into the kitchen. His gaze takes in Jess’s arms around me and his face softens. “You want to go home? I’ll take you.”

“Thanks, but I can go with Jess.” I pull away from her embrace but not before she pinches my arm.

“She gonna stay with you tonight?”

Puzzled I shake my head. “She’s working tomorrow. I don’t need anyone to stay with me.”

“Not leaving you alone.” He folds his arms in a “don’t mess with me” pose, and his voice drops husky and low. “You wanna talk about it, we’ll talk. You don’t, that’s cool. We’ll kick back, watch TV. But I’m staying with you.”

Jess makes a noise in her throat, something akin to a choked sob, like people make in the movies when they don’t want anyone to know they are crying at a happy moment. But the feeling I have is deeper, warm, steadying; it curls low in my belly and then it gives my heart a little lick.

Ray looks over at Jess. “You got a way to get home safe? If not, I can drop Sia off and come back for you.”

Jess beams. “So chivalrous. You could teach these fighters a thing or two. But I’m okay, thanks. We came in my car.”

With a smug smile, Jess heads back to the party. Ray disappears and returns with a track suit, running shoes, and a helmet.

“Shayla had these in her gym bag.” He hands me the clothes and shoes. “She said you could return them next time you’re at Redemption. Not safe for you to ride without something to cover you up.”

“Resourceful.” I kick off my shoes and pull the track pants over my legs.

“Gotta get my girl home safe.”

His
girl
. We’ve only had sex once and suddenly I’m his girl. But how can I set him straight when he’s being so nice?

Once I’m dressed, I grab the helmet and follow Ray out to his bike, my mouth watering at his ass-hugging jeans and the battered leather jacket that clings to him like a second skin. The air is cool, fresh with the hint of an ocean breeze, but when we reach the bike, I shudder. Am I ready to take him home? Am I ready to go home at all? My past is everywhere in my apartment, and right now all I want to do is forget.

“Ray?”

“Yeah.”

“Could we just ride around?”

He holds out his hand and helps me onto the pillion seat. “As long as you need. Just let me know when you want to go home.”

Moments later he slides on in front of me, then reaches back and wraps my arms around his waist. “Hold on.”

And I do. I hold him until the memories are gone and I know nothing but the whisper of the wind, the rumble of the motorcycle between my thighs, and the warmth of Ray’s body in my arms.

For a little while at least, I can put the past behind me and pretend Ray is mine.

Get out of my cupboards

After two hours driving around the city, with my ass numb and my hands frozen, I finally ask Ray to take me home. He parks outside my building and then follows me up the front walk.

“I’m coming in,” he says, and I am profoundly grateful to be spared the usual awkward good night at the front door, the back and forth in my mind about whether or not I should invite him in, and the perfunctory farewell kiss. Ray always seems to know when I need him to take the lead. How could he not when I wrapped myself around him the second we got on his bike and didn’t let go? Warm. Safe. Solid. I’ve never been so attracted to a man I know so little about.

Or maybe I do. After watching him for a year, I’ve picked up a few things. He’s not a talkative type, keeping to himself before and after a fight. And he’s got a philosophical bent. His fight shorts often have sayings from Nietzsche or Kant, musings about life, or abstract, thought-provoking designs. He keeps himself in tip-top shape, eats healthy, and rarely goes out drinking with the guys. So, basically, the opposite of me with my weekend indulgences on girls’ night out, my weakness for potato chips and hamburgers, and my tendency to exercise only when my jeans get too tight.

When Ray closes the door behind me, all my tension leaves in a sigh. Motionless, I stand in the hallway and try to process the events of the evening without collapsing in a heap on the floor.

“What do you do to relax?” Ray comes up behind me and wraps a strong arm around my waist, pulling me back against his warm body.

“Other than drink too much, indulge in family-size bags of potato chips, and take bubble baths, none of which interest me right now?” I wriggle away and pull off Shayla’s clothes, then toss them in the laundry basket. Hopefully I’ll have time to wash them before work tomorrow. “Usually I call Jess.”

Silence.

I turn around and Ray is gone. “Ray?”

“Hmmm.” Ray grunts as he wanders through my apartment. “Checking your place out.”

“Usually people wait for an invitation.” I lean against the wall and fold my arms. “They don’t wander at will.”

“They aren’t me. Getting to know you. Will report back in a minute.”

For the next five minutes, he inspects my tiny apartment. First the bedroom with its four-poster bed, bright green throw rug and matching bed spread, and the closet where my clothes are all neatly arranged by color. Then he wanders into the tiny bathroom, turns on the taps at the sink for no discernible reason, opens the hall closet, and stares at my coats.

“Is this a territory thing?” I follow him into my living room slash dining room slash kitchen. “Are you going to mark it to keep other males away?”

His face hardens. “You bring guys up here?”

Exasperated, I say, “Yeah. Tons. It’s basically a revolving door of hot, fit guys who come to service my needs.”

“Not funny. Don’t even joke.” He frowns and opens my kitchen cupboards one by one, then peers into the fridge containing a surprising array of healthy foods, all purchased by my mother the last time she came to visit.

He makes a final lap around the living room and then returns to the hallway and tugs open the door to my storage closet. Easels and paintbrushes spill onto the floor from the overstuffed space.

“Hey! Get out of my cupboards.” I race toward him and gather up my art supplies. “Most people get to know each other through conversation. You know what that is?”

“Not really one for conversation.” He tugs a paintbrush from my hand and inspects the bristles. “You paint?”

“Not anymore. That’s why everything is in the cupboard.” With a harrumph, I shove past him and dump the art supplies at the bottom of the closet. Then I slam the door and lean against it, arms folded. “No.”

His lips quiver with a smile and he lifts an eyebrow.

“Don’t play that eyebrow game with me.” I waggle my finger at him. “You can’t intimidate me like you do everyone else. You’re not getting in.”

Ray takes a step toward me and leans his forearm on the door beside my head. Then he brushes his lips over my cheek and whispers in my ear. “If I really wanted in, you wouldn’t be able to stop me.” He curves one hand around my rib cage, brushing the underside of my breast with his thumb. My body heats to what I’m sure must be a million degrees and sweat trickles down my neck.

“I thought we were going to watch TV.”

“You want to watch TV?”

My chest heaves as I pant. He is close—so close I can feel the warmth of his body, breathe in his scent of leather and soap and fresh ocean air. My chest tightens and I curl my fingers into his sleeve. God, I want him. But after last time, I’m not sure I can handle him again.

“Yes. TV.”

A few minutes later, we are seated in front of the television. Ray grabs the remote with one hand and me with the other, tucking me against his body as he flips through the channels at dizzying speed.

“How can you see what’s on if you go that fast?” I shut my eyes against the blur that is one hundred channels viewed in one hundredth of a second, or so it seems.

“Know what I like.”

I tilt my head back, resting it against his arm. “What about what I like?”

“We’ll get there.”

We finally settle on a Discovery Channel episode about lions. We learn that lions can have sex as many as one hundred times during a twenty-four-hour period. Ray says he likes learning new things from the Discovery Channel and he never misses a show about jungle cats. I ask if he can have sex one hundred times in a day. He tells me to get the condoms. Slightly concerned he may not be joking, I suggest we watch some more.

The lions segue into sharks. Ray doesn’t like the sharks. He thinks they lack class. Also they can’t have sex one hundred times a day so, clearly, they are lesser creatures. Amused by this new, chatty, Discovery Channel–loving side of Ray, I slide down the couch and lay my head in his lap. Ray absently strokes my hair while mocking the sharks as they tear apart their prey.

“Why don’t you paint anymore?”

An abrupt interjection into his muttering about sharks, Ray’s question startles me and I jerk my head up.

“I paint in ink now. Skin is my canvas.”

He waves his hand vaguely around the room, encompassing the giant abstract, colorful murals decorating the walls: oils on canvas, framed and hung, all in orange and deep ocean blue, bright reds and greens. “Did you paint these?”

“A long time ago.”

“Beautiful.” His voice drops to a quiet murmur. “Why did you switch to ink?”

“That was me then,” I say. “I’m different now.”

Hmmm. Somehow his hand has found its naughty way under my shirt and his deft fingers are fiddling with my bra. “Are you trying to distract me so you can seduce me?”

Ray chuckles as he unhooks my bra, then slides his warm hand around to cup my breast. “If you’ve let me get this far without slapping me, then I’ve already seduced you. Now you’re mine to do with as I please, unless you still want to chill, and I’m cool with that.”

I flip to my back to give him easier access and look up into sky-blue eyes. “It’s hard to feel anything except the need to get in your pants when you’ve got your hand under my shirt.”

A smile tugs his lips. “Never met anyone who teased me before.”

“That’s because you don’t scare me, Predator.” I grab the edges of my shirt and tug it and my bra over my head. “I know you have a good heart.”

His jaw tightens almost imperceptibly. “How?”

“Because I watched you fight for so long I could tell when you were holding back. And you always held back when you had an unequal opponent. I figured you didn’t want him to lose face by knocking him out in the first ten seconds, so you’d let him get in a few shots and dance around the ring before you took him down. Same thing you did the other day in the gym with Hammer Fist. I’ve seen you bench more than you did that night. But you held back so you didn’t leave him in your dust, isn’t that right?”

He traces my lips with the pad of his thumb. “You see a lot. Know what I see? Another Sia, all soft and sweet in a world of color, hiding under all that black.”

“That Sia’s gone.”

“No, she’s not.” Ray leans down and kisses me. “She’s here.” His lips slide across my cheek, and he kisses each of the piercings in my ear. “And here.”

My eyes close and I tilt my head to the side as he feathers kisses down my neck, following the tats down my arm. “And here.”

Warmth suffuses my body, liquid pleasure flowing through my veins. My back arches, and his lips close around my left nipple. “Here.”

Breathless, I sigh. “Where else?”

“You sure you want to do this?” Ray toys with my nipple ring, flipping it back and forth, the little tugging gesture sending every bit of heat rushing to my center. “When I said I was happy to just chill with you, I meant it.”

“Hmmm.” I raise a sarcastic eyebrow. “Maybe I should put my shirt back on and think about it.”

“I have a better idea.” Ray tweaks the ring with his finger and thumb, and I gasp as pleasure sizzles through me. “Paint something. Naked.”

“You want me to paint for you…naked?”

Ray runs his hand through my hair and tugs my head back. “I’ll make sure you enjoy every minute of it.”

How many years has it been since I locked everything away? With the past already spilling out around me, do I really want to open that door? “I kinda made a decision to give it up. Couldn’t we just—”

Ray slants his mouth over mine. This time his kiss is rough, demanding, his firm lips forcing my mouth open, his tongue delving inside, marking every inch. With his free hand, he sweeps his fingers under my skirt, and then teases me through my panties, his thumb tracing lazy circles over my clit. “Paint for me.”

“Ray…” I rock into his touch, my thighs trembling. “I’m… It’s been so long… I’ve moved on.”

He twirls my pink-streaked hair around his finger. “Your apartment says you didn’t move on. This”—he tugs the color in my hair—“says you didn’t move on. And what happened in the alley behind Rabid Ink, and the other day in the machine shop… The things you aren’t telling me, they say you didn’t move on from whatever it was you’re trying to leave behind.”

With a rough finger, he shoves my panties aside and strokes over my folds, fuzzing my brain with delicious pleasure. “Paint anything. It doesn’t have to be a picture. I’ll be right here. I’ll probably get off just watching you hold the brush.”

My mouth waters at the thought of opening that door, holding the brush in my hand, splashing color on the canvas, the bold, wild strokes that can’t be made with a tattoo machine. He’s offering me freedom in the safety of his arms.

What
are
you
afraid
of?
Torment asked me not so long ago.
What
kind
of
fighter
are
you?

“I won’t let anything happen to you,” Ray says. “Trust me.”

I hesitate for only a moment longer, and then I give in to longing and step into the ring. “Okay.”

Twenty minutes later, I have set up my easel on the dining table. Ray has thrown a drop cloth on the floor to protect the carpet. I’ve added a few oils to my palate—the only ones that haven’t dried out—softened my brushes, and arranged my canvas. For a long moment, I just stare at the whiteness in front of me. A lump forms in my throat when no pictures come to mind. Maybe I won’t be able to paint again. Maybe skin will always be my canvas and the tattoo machine my brush.

Ray jolts me out of my confusion with a soft caress. Warm hands on my breasts, his breath a whisper on my nape. “I’m going to undress you. Don’t think about me. Don’t think about what scares you. Think about that canvas and what you’re going to paint. Think about the brush in your hand. The colors on your palate. Think about what inspires you. Think of something you can’t do in ink. Then do it for me.”

As he talks, his hands glide over my rib cage, his calluses sending sensual shivers across my skin. He presses his thumbs along either side of my spine, rubbing deep concentric circles, easing my tension as his fingers stroke the sides of my breasts. Such a feeling of warmth and contentment suffuses me that I lean back against him, only to have him growl a warning in my ear.

“Paint.”

“Bossy.”

“I haven’t even started.”

My body tingles. “Is that a promise?”

“You play nice, it could be a reward.” His subtle assurance warms me to my toes. He may be a predator, but he has soft fur.

With slow, gentle movements, he unzips my skirt and eases it down over my hips. Cool air brushes over my heated skin, like the wind on my face when I’m on his motorcycle. But even with that happy image in my head, a familiar tension rolls through my body. My breaths come out in pants, and I tremble.

“Use it,” Ray whispers. “Let it out. I’ve got you.”

Heart pounding, muscles coiled tight, I grab my brush, dip into the oil, and streak black across the middle of the canvas. The first stroke is always almost orgasmic, the realization of a vision, desire exposed. But this time it is my fear splashed across the canvas, a black streak marring the pristine white surface, the memory of a night I have wished a thousand times had never been. A sob rips from my throat and I drop my brush.

“Shhhh.” With a low growl, Ray runs his hands along my curves, and my breathing hitches.

Damn
Luke. Damn that night
. I’m going to turn my fear into something beautiful. Gritting my teeth, I lift my brush and the black streak becomes a wheel, two, and then I join them with a band of red.

“Fuck.” Ray pinches my nipples between his thumbs and forefingers, his chest warm, hard against my back, his belt buckle a deliciously pleasant pain on my skin.

“Watching you paint is fucking hot.”

PTSD crisis averted, I manage a smile. “Might be your hands on my breasts is what’s making you hot.”

He grinds his hips into my ass, his erection stiff between us. “Touching you makes me hard. Watching you makes me hot.”

Gray for the chrome, more red for the fairing, abstract strokes but my brain can’t fill in the detail with Ray’s fingers grazing the bare skin of my abdomen.